


Absolutely

by aishahiwatari



Series: Reality [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Anal Sex, Ash Tyler Lurks, Bottom Christopher Pike, M/M, Not Beta Read, PWP, Rimming, Set after Season 2, Top Ash Tyler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 20:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18534997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: The events of Season 2 have taken their toll on everyone.Christopher Pike is so very tired. Ash Tyler reminds him what it is to have a connection.





	Absolutely

**Author's Note:**

> Soft and squishy Piler after the intense trauma of that season finale? Yes, I needed it too.
> 
> Technically a sequel to part 1 in which they... also have sex.

Christopher Pike feels weary, has never felt so bone-tired as he does when he steps off the bridge. He maintains his posture and suitably mild expression until the moment he's in his quarters, when he slumps back against the door, closing his eyes to sigh, long and low.

It hits him, occasionally, washes over him like a wave to drag him down beneath the surface, the knowledge that for all his crew, his family, he might just be the loneliest person on the ship. He stands above and apart from everyone, can't confide, can't touch. And there is so much grief in him for all he has lost, but he must carry it alone.

Some days he wonders just how long he can do that for. He shrugs off his jacket, is on his way to his sleeping quarters and recognises that the door should not be open just an instant too late.

His heart rate picks up, instinctive fight or flight and then something else. He's too tired to hide the way the corners of his mouth curl upwards without permission from his brain. "Still lurking? You know you can just come onto the bridge."

Ash Tyler's answering smile shows no teeth but is no less genuine for it. "I didn't come here to see the bridge."

"Is that so? Well, you could have brought flowers at least."

"Being sprayed for alien contaminants interferes with my aesthetic."

It feels good to laugh, better to have Ash in his arms, warm and strong and solid. Still there. When they step back a little, Chris examines him, runs a hand through that ridiculous hair. It's soft, almost long enough to tie back, now. He clenches his fist and pulls, just a little, wary as always of crossing that line into too rough. Ash has spent his whole existence fighting. Chris won't be another opponent for him, not any more.

And Ash relaxes into him, like he's been thinking about this, craving it as much as Chris has, the need for someone who understands him, who exists outside of a chain of command. It's probably also not in keeping with this so-called aesthetic to compare Ash to a kitten going limp when it's picked up by the scruff of the neck, but Chris doesn't say it out loud. Instead he brings him in for a kiss that starts open-mouthed and slow, the sensation of Ash's tongue lapping at his bottom lip so soft and familiar he wants to sob with the overwhelming emotion of it.

He feels like he should be trembling, but both of them stay steady. Ash's hands are at Chris' waist, sliding beneath his undershirt and he might not be trembling but he shivers at the feeling of work-roughened fingertips so gentle and reverent on his skin. It's exactly what he needs, an island of calm, of simple physical connection in the raging sea of stars that awaits him outside this room.

The uniform hasn't changed. Chris knows where the fastenings are, detaches that ridiculous badge and maybe flings it across the room with a little more fervour than sense. Ash laughs, low and resonant into his mouth, bites Chris' lip in retaliation, sucking hard as he breaks their kiss. He's grinning -there are the teeth- when he pulls Chris' undershirt over his head then shoves him back onto the bed.

They're playfully rough where their aggression towards one another had been necessarily cathartic before. Ash gains more confidence in his body every day, shrugging off his jacket, stripping off his shirt and stretching, toned muscle rippling beneath glorious smooth, dark skin. Chris wants to set his hands and tongue to every inch of it, reaches out, beckoning Ash closer, never commanding.

Maybe he could afford to be a little more commanding. Ash shoots him a sultry look, all dark eyes beneath thick lashes, and bends to take off his boots. Chris leans up on his elbows to watch; they never have much time and he doesn't intend to miss a moment.

It doesn't stop him rolling his eyes when Ash kicks his own boots aside then starts studiously working on Chris', clearly in no hurry to indulge him.

"Were you planning to keep them on?" Ash asks.

Chris' mind goes a little blank, caught up in images of pressing Ash up against a wall from behind and taking him, still in his pants and boots while Ash, his gloriously nude blank canvas, drives his hips back and begs for more. He has the urge to leave bite marks and bruises on that skin, all inflicted slowly and lovingly, a reminder of affection rather than a claim.

Ash raises his brows expectantly when he blinks back to reality, is stood in only his briefs and looking like an impossible dream, someone Chris shouldn't be allowed to have. His touch seems like poison, sometimes, like he destines people to terrible fates.

But Ash was destined long before Chris ever met him. "Come here," he says, pleads instead of commanding and Ash crawls, predatory and cat-like over him to claim his mouth in a warm, wet kiss. It's gentle, but Ash pushes his thumbs into the hinge of Chris' jaw, holding him open even as he cradles his face, dragging him deeper and there's no part of Chris that wants to resist.

He's breathing heavily, finds his eyes a little unfocused when Ash begins to explore, trailing kisses down his throat, grazing his teeth against the soft spot beside Chris' ear. All the while, there is the damp friction between their bodies, continuously driving him higher, the hot skin beneath his uncoordinated fingers, the solid thighs bracketing his own through accursed layers of uniform. Chris fumbles at the fastening of his pants, needing for feel more, groans when he can get them just far enough to relieve the worst of the pressure, shifts his hips seeking more.

Ash bites his earlobe, murmurs a not-at-all chastising, "Needy," that makes him shiver, then sits up to help. Chris already misses his blanketing warmth, but he licks his lips at the sight, lifts up helpfully, about all he can manage when Ash works both his pants and briefs down, and drops them on the floor.

Chris should care about something beyond the way that big, dark eyes take every inch of him in. Instead he just stares, indulges for a change, allows himself to lay back and let someone else control the pace.

With impossible grace, Ash slips off his own briefs and Chris reaches out to touch the uninterrupted expanse of skin, presses his palm over Ash's heart to feel it pound. It makes Ash smile, and lean in, and settle his weight so that the gloriously hot, satiny underside of his cock aligns with Chris', drawing a stunned, broken cry from him as sparks shoot down his spine.

"I missed you too." Ash wraps a hand around them both, just holds, shifts his hips for the barest friction.

Chris tries to muscle closer, push for more, but he's held captive, "Please."

He doesn't think he's imagining the way Ash's eyes darken, how his breath catches and quickens at that one simple word. Because of course it's more than that. Their every interaction has been laboured with greater meaning but they've moved so far beyond pretending they don't both need this.

Slowly enough that Chris can object if he wants -he doesn't- Ash rearranges them so he's between Chris' spread legs, still paying nothing like enough attention to his cock, holding just tightly enough to make him crave more. Somehow, through the insistent twitches of his body, Chris is still relaxed, trusting Ash to do what he wants with him, knowing it will be good. It's the least rushed they've ever been, the most time he's ever had to savour and bask in the attention.

Ash leans down to kiss him, is fondly amused by his lazy attempts to respond, looks down between their bodies to where he's holding them pressed together. Chris hips twitch when he does the same; he loves how they look against one another, the careless erotic contrast of them.

Somehow, he holds back a whimper when Ash lets go, snakes his body back down, laps at the fluid beading at the head of Chris’ cock, gives him a smile and a little push to the side.

"Roll over," Ash urges, and Chris has obeyed before he can think of a reason not to, wrapping his arms around a pillow. He shivers at the first kiss to the back of his neck, soft lips and the wiry hair of Ash's beard, the slightest grazing of teeth meant as a warning to keep still, as though there is anywhere else in the universe he'd rather be. He does rut a little helplessly against the sheets, and it earns him a pinch to the ass that makes him huff a laugh, the sensation more warm and deep than painful and sharp.

"Please," he says again, then sighs as those kisses trail downwards. Ash's hands are gentle on his thighs, urging them apart and Chris has always told himself not to hope for the impossible but he wants, shudders and cries out and clutches the pillow at the first wet swipe of Ash's tongue across his hole.

Chris has never been fussy about how the act of sex is actually achieved. He gets the same enjoyment whether giving or receiving, generally, but this particular act just melts his spine, turns him weak at the knees with the wet, soft forbidden pleasure of it. There's no possible way Ash could have known that, but he's a fast learner and a slow, thorough lover. He revels in his task, too, lapping at the sensitive, puckered skin, probing with the tip of his tongue, suckling gently at Chris' rim with just a hint of teeth until he's driven him into whimpering with every breath.

The muscle there loosens under the pressure, the last bastion of resistance Chris' body can possibly have against this man. He spreads his legs wider, arches his back, encouraging more, and feels Ash's pleased hum as heat against his damp skin. He's guided up, then, or his ass is, so he's on his knees, chest pressed to the bed, Ash still slowly but surely opening him up on his tongue.

He is trembling by that point, with the effort of not shoving back to demand more as Ash thrusts deeper, lathes at the ring of muscle where Chris knows it's hot and smooth and pink, hidden inside. Every touch of teeth sends sparks through him, makes his whole body shudder and only when the flesh beneath Ash's lips is puffy and sensitive does he start to press sucking kisses there, long and slow. It's perfect. Chris is torn before needing more and wanting it never to be over, just that gentle coaxing that allows Ash to press fingers inside of him and tongue around them, slicking and stretching the way for his cock.

They've done it before, although Chris is usually the more dominant of the two of them during sex, but he's never felt like he needs it in the same way as he does at this moment, every incremental stretch driving him to crave more. He's panting, unable to keep still, Ash still working him open patiently -lovingly?- when he slurs out another, "Please," and hears Ash's answering little choked-off breath.

He's guided into lying flat again, just a pillow beneath his hips and he's not even sure it's going to work until Ash blankets him, his chest to Chris' back, their thighs aligned, Ash’s just coaxing Chris a little more open for him, as much of their skin in contact as possible. Ash flexes so the length of his cock strokes through the slick channel of Chris' ass, slick with spit and pre-come and apparently hastily-procured lube. He likes it to go slow and easy, they both do, and Chris tilts his hips to allow him the best angle, gasps then sobs at the sensation of Ash's cockhead catching on the swollen, sensitive edge of him.

Ash slides his hand under Chris' shoulders to curl his fingers around them, kisses and bites and licks at the back of his neck as he eases inside so slowly it takes Chris' breath away. His cock feels impossibly wide, splitting Chris open on the length of it, Ash keeping him pinned with his weight so Chris has to gasp for breath, reaching back to tangle a hand in Ash's hair and keep him there when he shifts as though to let up in response.

"Please," Chris breathes, and Ash bites his acknowledgement into the junction of Chris' neck and shoulder, undulates and rolls his hips, makes him sob with how good it is, the stretch and the weight and the constant grinding pressure against his prostate, the bed beneath him allowing him to grind his poor, neglected cock against the fabric. Ash can't move enough for long thrusts but instead he stays deep, circling, is always where he's needed. Chris pushes his free hand against the headboard to get more momentum, so he can push back and take a little more without losing the hot presence of Ash's body against his back. It dislodges one of Ash's hands, but he reaches up to take hold of Chris' jaw instead, pushes two fingers past Chris' lips to press down on his tongue.

It's hot and wet and messy, Chris senseless and drooling, the sensations warring and building and climbing, Ash's rhythm quickening and fracturing because he's close, himself, sheathed inside Chris' body at two points. Chris' vision is going black at the edges and he sees sparks when he can feel them shooting down his spine, not quite enough oxygen getting through to allow him to keep his senses or any of his worthless inhibitions intact. He clenches his fist too tightly in Ash's hair, makes him snarl and inch impossibly deeper, driving into him hard.

When Chris comes, it's with a sob, spilling onto the sweat-damp pillow and rutting through the mess, feeling like he's turning inside out with the force of it and how violently it's dragged from him, Ash's cock hard and deep and milking out every last drop he has, blissful and merciful, Ash who is rolling through a few more thrusts and shuddering to a halt with a groan of relief and the delicate rush as he fills Chris with his release.

Ash at least has enough sense remaining not to collapse onto Chris' already struggling lungs, pulls his fingers from Chris' mouth so he can prop himself up on one elbow and pant, hot and damp, against the back of Chris' neck. Chris pets his hair, scratches his scalp where he must have hurt him, has kisses mouthed against his skin in response, takes a few moments to catch his breath and bask. He feels relaxed and loose, pleasantly tired, comfortably weighed down and no longer alone.

Eventually, though, Ash's softening cock slips free of his body, the fluids covering both of them fading from visceral and sexually charged to cold and sticky. Chris rolls to the side, facing Ash, can't resist gazing at him for a few moments of weakness. "Can you stay?" he asks as he traces fingers through the hair on Ash's chest, fingers that are taken gently in hand and brought to soft lips for an apologetic kiss. "How about a shower?"

Ash considers it. He's still holding Chris' hand, stroking his thumb over the skin. "I should conduct a thorough sweep of your whole quarters. In the name of security."

"Well, I think it's my duty as Captain to assist you in any and all enquiries you might have. Let me show you where everything is."

Chris uses those same still-linked hands to lead Ash in the direction of hot, clean water, sufficient mouthwash and more deep, desperate kisses.


End file.
